


Subordination

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-04
Updated: 2011-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 20:23:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the darkness is better than the light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subordination

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of two alternative sequels for [Dominion](http://jarakrisafis.livejournal.com/12893.html)

Four days.

It has been four days since Mirage failed to report in.

Four days of not having to report to his room.

Four days of freedom.

But today something has changed.

Something in my very coding.

Slag if I know what though.

I jerk my helm up as the base alarms start blaring. Across the room First Aid grabs two of our emergency field packs and makes for the door, I catch the one he tosses my way as I fall in beside him.

Peering around the doorway I frown at the battle raging just outside. Beside me First Aid shifts, redistributing his weight nervously as we survey the battlefield. “Unusual for them to attack us directly, I wonder what they’re looking for this time?” he observes as Wheeljack joins us, a med pack in hand.

“I have no idea.” I hiss as I see Smokescreen go down, “Stay here Aid, I’ll send back anybody I can’t field repair, I’d rather keep you under cover.”

First Aid gives me a grateful smile as I transform and dash out the door, Wheeljack close on my bumper.

Reaching Smokescreen I flash a scan across his chassis, the results making me wince. Not life threatening, but rather painful.

“Hey Ratch.” He says with a grimace as his optics power up and he rolls back to his feet.

“Aid is that way.” I say, jerking a finger at the door as he turns back to the fight. His doorwings twitch before drooping in resignation before he makes a run for the door to the Ark, the arm not clutching his gun wrapped around his chest.

Watching him go for a moment I hear Wheeljack whistle in surprise, twisting round I am met by a wall of black and purple metal.

“Slagging glitch.” I snarl as I roll to my hands and knees and glare up at Skywarp, the teleporter just flashes an optic in a wink before warping himself out of the cell he has so unceremoniously dropped me in.

Wonderful.

Just slagging wonderful.

What else could possibly go wrong?

“Ratchet. My apologies about your current accommodation.”

Snapping my helm up I glare at Megatron as I stop pacing round my cell. He is the one who changed my coding. Glitch better not get too close because I’ll quite happily put several rounds through his spark, healers oath be slagged.

“I sent Laserbeak to find out who you had ended up bonding too. She saw something I think your last owner would rather she not have seen.”

I froze. Nobody should know. Especially not him. He probably watched the recording and laughed at me.

Wait? Last owner?

No.

At least Mirage is an Autobot.

“Easy Ratchet.” Megatron says as he lowers the bars on my cell and steps inside. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I snort.

Right.

Same way Mirage would never hurt me.

I growl, removing my gun from subspace, aiming and firing in one move.

I’d rather die on my own terms than become Megatrons pet. Although it might be too late already if that is what my coding was warning me about this morning: that I had been transferred to a new Master.

“Ratchet. Stop!”

I vaguely feel myself howl as a wave of pain crashes over my sensor net as I continue my lunge towards the Decepticon Warlord.

“I told you going in there was a bad idea.” A new voice says from behind me as I stay where I am, sprawled face down on the ground, vents heaving as the pain slowly fades.

“I didn’t think he would attack me.” Megatron sounds almost... sheepish as he admits that.

“No, of course not.” The reply is sarcastic, tinged with frustration as the mech, no, my Master, and I can’t help but allow myself to be thankful I’m not bound to Megatron, kneels down beside me. “You are only the one responsible for this whole situation.”

I tense as he wraps an arm around my waist, gently pulling me to my hands and knees. So this is how it’s going to be. I can deal with this. I lock my joints so I don’t end up smashing my face into the ground, and offline my optics since it’s so much easier when I don’t have to look.

I shudder when the mech makes no attempt to do anything. I hate waiting. It’s worse than anything else. The not knowing what’s going to happen next.

“Ratchet.” I shrink away from him as he settles down in front of me, “Ratchet look at me.”

I feel subroutines activating, my optics powering up without my conscious control as I slowly tilt my helm back.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

I feel myself flinch, a harsh laugh escaping my vocaliser. Now how many times had Mirage said that?

“Come on, you’ll feel better on a berth than on the floor.” A green hand is extended, waiting.

I snorted. Didn’t he mean; he’d feel much comfier on a berth? Ha. What difference would it make? If I didn’t move he’d just order me to anyway. I let myself be pulled to my feet and led towards the door, the green arm wrapping around my waist as I stumble, phantom pain still flickering across my sensor net.

“Hook.” I jump as I remember Megatron is still present, a dark grey statue in the corner of the cell, plating still showing scorch marks from where he had been unable to fully twist away from my attack. “You have as much time as you need.”

The Constructicon nods his helm. “Thank you my Lord.”

Opening the door to his room I am surprised to see that instead of a small room with a berth it instead opens up into a large room, a couple of large desks, both littered with datapads are off to one side and several couches take up the other wall.

One of which is occupied by another sprawl of green and purple. A red optic band lazily powers up to regard us as I realise that I must be not in Hook’s quarters, but his gestalts. The fact that they shared rooms hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“Easy.” Hooks voice soothes as he leads me to a door set in the back wall, into a corridor with more doors. Guiding me into one of the rooms I was glad to see a small table and berth. And a shelf filled with medical texts.

Hook’s room.

One of them I can deal with.

I shudder again. Maybe he would want me all for himself.

“Go recharge,” he says as he motions me to the berth, “if I’m not here when you get back feel free to read whatever you want, and we have an energon dispensor out in our main living quarters, you’ve been added to the base list so you can draw your ration.”

He paused in the doorway, hand hovering over the pad as he tilted his helm my direction. “I have to get back to the repair bay, don’t leave our quarters, some mechs on board know how to work around Megatron’s orders.” He leaves without another word, although it isn’t much consolation as I can feel my systems slowly and automatically following his order to recharge.

Waking I scan the room, frowning when I don’t register another presence. Hook isn’t back yet. Or maybe it is a test. But then again he had said I was free to read anything.

Sliding off the berth I wander over to the shelf, grab a bookfile at random and turn around.

Slag. I really don’t want crimped neck cables from reading lying down, but the room doesn’t have anything else.

Or I could go out.

A pinged warning to my main processor decides the answer for me. My tanks are running low and the energon dispenser is out there.

Palming the pad I am happy to see that it opens for me, my presence already registered in the databanks. Waiting for the next door to fully cycle open I carefully poked my helm into the main living space.

Only to freeze as a black and grey helm lifts to regard me. “I don’t bite.” Scrapper says as he returns to his datapad, ignoring me as I slide into the room and over to the energon.

I settle into the couch that has the best view of the room before curling up, cube in hand as I keep a wary sensor on the Constructicon leader.

Hook must have told them not to bother me.

The black helm swinging around to stare at the door catches my attention, before it slides back to reveal an exhausted looking Hook.

He makes straight for the energon, grabbing a cube before seemingly realising I am watching him, hands clenched around the datapad I had been reading. He looks as if he is going to say something before he turns on his heel towards his berthroom.

I frown, flashing a questioning look at Scrapper. I’ll be in more trouble for not knowing whether I am meant to follow than I would for speaking out of turn.

“He didn’t want you to be bound to him.” Scrapper says as he gets up from behind his desk and approaches me. “You know the coding can’t be removed, only transferred.” I nod slightly, relaxing as the other mech chooses to sit down far enough away that I am out of easy reach for him.

“Even Megatron doesn’t condone rape. Every mech has a right to their own chassis.” Scrapper holds my gaze until I blink my optics off for a moment, looking away from him.

“I’m a slave. I don’t have any rights.” Bitterness leaks out in my tone as I ignore the rest of Scrappers words.

Scrapper hisses, armour flaring. “You have the right to a safe life. Megatron ordered your last...” the gestalt leader all but spits the next word, “Master apprehended and the bond to be transferred after Laserbeak came back one time.”

“You know?” Slag if I could expect every Decepticon to turn around and know.

Scrapper huffs as he sits back, hands which had clenched, claws digging into the furniture, relax, smoothing out the metallic mesh they had tangled in. “I know the basics, and that only because we are gestalt. Go talk to Hook.”

Scrapper stands up and makes for the door, collecting the pile of pads he had been working on as he goes. “He won’t hurt you.”

I didn’t have an answer ready before the con was out the door.

I wonder what a Decepticons interpretation of ‘won’t hurt you’ is. Better to find out now though. If there was one thing I have learnt it is that avoiding something only makes it worse.

Opening Hook’s door I all but creep in to find my new owner staring into space from his seat on the berth.

“Master?”

“Please don’t call me that.” He looks almost pained as I settle down in front of him, the title spilling from my vocaliser easily after so much practice.

“Yes... Sir.”

He huffs, one hand running across my helm as he shakes his armour out in frustration. “Just call me Hook.”

“Yes Mas... Hook.” I wince as my mistake sends a quick bolt of pain across my chassis.

The hand is snatched back from my helm with a curse as Hook moves to lie down on the berth. A muttered sorry making me wonder what he is apologising for.

“Get up and come recharge.” He says after a moment as he twists to peer down at me, confusion about why I am still on the floor clearly radiating before he powers his optics down for the second time.

Stretching out beside the other medic I resign myself to more waiting, obviously he doesn’t want to use me if he’s too tired.

I wake to a familiar feeling, an idling engine tucked into my back and the weight of an arm curled over my chassis.

“You awake?” His voice is still static laced as he uncurls his arm and reclaims it.

I contemplate ignoring him for a moment, but I know my systems powering up will have given me away. “Yes.” I shuffle onto my back, waiting.

And still waiting.

I power up my optics and twist my helm to see what he is doing, only to find myself staring into a red visor.

I can sense his confusion as his electromagnetic field curls around me, “what are you doing?”

Oh.

Right.

Mirage never let me top without expressly ordering me to, but I suppose I can manage, as long as I don’t hurt him my programming shouldn’t object too much.

Rolling over I hoist myself onto my knees and tentatively run a hand across his chassis.

“Ratchet! What are you doing?”

I pause, unsure, isn’t it obvious what I’m doing?

“Nevermind.” Hook says as he gently pushes me away. “You don’t need to do that.”

I don’t?

I’m still contemplating what I might have done wrong and how I can correct it before my coding decides to kick in and flatten me when Hook heads out of the room, waving me to follow.

We don’t go far, only a couple of doors and the faint scent of oil, coolant, energon and cleanser all mixing together hits me as we enter.

“I have some reports to finish,” he waves a hand at a small office off to one side, “feel free to look around, and deal with anyone that comes in.”

Looking around the medbay I can feel myself relaxing. I know what I can and cannot do in here. If I ignore the faintly lilac walls I could even imagine I’m back in the Ark.

“Hook?”

“He’s busy.” I say as I step away from the box of tools I had been organising, pushing my nervousness at being alone with the larger seeker to one side, although I do still have my weaponry, oversight, or possibly just Hook not realising he needs to actually voice an order that I not use them. Whatever the answer it is a comfort to know I could use them if it comes to it. “I’m to... deal with you.”

“Oh.” Skywarp seems to adapt to my presence with an almost imperceptible shrug as he wanders over to me and all but shoves his arm in my face. “Can you fix it?”

“What did you do?”

I stare at the seeker as he unrepentantly grins at me, apparently accepting my presence and ability to repair him, as he continues holding out his arm for me to see. “Well?”

“Yes I can see it needs fixing.” I explain patiently. “What I want to know is what the frag you did to end up with slagging teethmarks in your arm?” I finish in a growl.

The slagger has the audacity to let his grin get even bigger as he ripples his plating in amusement. “Ravage.”

“Ravage.” I repeat flatly.

He nods, before tilting his helm in thought, “seems he doesn’t like being fluorescent yellow.”

I feel an optical ridge lift of its own accord. Glitch.

The seeker blinks at me, optics flickering as they reset, his uninjured arm feeling the new dent in his helm. “Owww.”

“Ratchet!”

I freeze as Hook stalks towards me, optics narrowed. Oh I know that look. Now I’m in trouble, I need to remember where I am; that this isn’t my medbay.

“The wrench if you will.” He says, taking it without another word.

I wince as a second clang echoes through the repairbay before realising that the lack of pain means I wasn’t the target.

“That was strangely satisfying.” Hook says as he passes the wrench back to me. “As you were.”

I chance a look at Skywarp to find him prodding at a second dent and glancing between me and Hook. “You are a bad influence on him; he’s never hit me before.” He all but whines.

I snort, motioning towards a berth with the wrench, the sight of a seeker slinking across the medbay improving my mood no end.

It’s taken the rest of the day, and two more patients, both of whom left with repaired limbs and dented helms, for me to gather my courage to go speak to Hook.

Mirage never liked me speaking, I was to be seen but not heard. Unless he wanted me to scream.

“Hook?” I ask as I stop in the doorway to his office.

“What’s up Ratchet?” He shuts down the terminal he’s working on and spins round to face me.

I have several questions but one of them has been worrying at me since Skywarp kidnapped me.

“You obviously caught Mirage, why didn’t Megatron have the codes transferred to himself? Why you? I would have thought that he would have been all up for having another mech at his mercy.”

“Megatron originally only wanted to keep you onboard Nemesis and saving his troops not offlining them.” Hook tilted his helm for a moment, “Shockwave suggested this, he didn’t tell us the full extent of the programming until we had already installed it or Megatron would never have gone through with it.”

“But you’re already a medic, why would he want me?” I said as I frowned at him, didn’t he feel at all upset that Megatron went to such lengths to catch an Autobot to do his job?

Hook laughed, “I’m mostly self taught. We haven’t had a real medic on board for vorns.”

“You are? You haven’t?” I rebooted my audios, sure that he couldn’t have said what he did.

“I was an armour worker, mostly worked on commissions in the Iacon Towers, I knew next to nothing about internal workings till I got pushed into it.”

“Oh.” Ok, so they needed a medic. I contemplated that for a moment as Hook seemed to be debating with himself, or possibly with one of his gestalt, he had the same distant look in his optics as First Aid sometimes had.

“Ratchet. How Mirage treated you was wrong.”

I snort, cutting him off as I turn away. A fragment of a memory file replaying in my processor.

 _”You are nothing pet. My property. Mine to do with as I please.”_

Amber optics bore into me, a smirk on the aristocratic faceplates.

“Mine, and I’ll do whatever I want with you.”

“I’m a slave. You could treat me however you like.” I feel my vocaliser hitch in a sob, shrinking away from the hand which is resting on a shoulder, spinning me round as Hook is suddenly right beside me, an unmoveable wall of purple and green.

“Then I feel like treating you as I would any other mech on board this ship.”

My vocaliser crackles as I hide my face in his neck, burying myself in his arms. Frag that he’s a Decepticon. It’s been a long time since I’ve been like any other mech.

“How did they never see how close to the edge you were?” He murmurs.

A rhetorical question I think, but I answer anyway. “I couldn’t show them, had to follow my orders, had to be my old self.”

He hisses softly, his armour clattering in agitation as he finally unwinds his arms from around me. “Come on.”

I let myself be guided back to his rooms and settled down, my head resting on his lap as we claim one of the couches, a soft hand tracing over my helm as I drop into a light recharge. My last thought before the darkness claims me, that this gentleness is more than I would expect from Mirage in weeks.

* * *

“That is so cute.”

“Cute?”

“Well what do you want to call it? I haven’t seen Hook so relaxed in a long time.”

“Scav, Haul, don’t wake them up.” I recognise Scrapper from amongst the voices slowly invading my processor.

“Aww, come on, even you gotta admit it’s cute.”

“Yes, it’s cute, now scram.” The sound of retreating footsteps and a door sliding open and closed heralds their departure.

“I know you’re awake Ratchet,” I freeze as Scrappers voice comes from far too close by. “Hook is meant to have today off, keep him away from anything that looks like work would you.” I online my optics as Scrapper turns away and watch him also disappear through the door.

“Meddling glitches.” Hook says softly, his fond tone taking the sting out of the words as I wriggle onto my back without falling off the couch.

This could turn out to be one of my worst plans. But I need to know. Need to know if his actions will be the same as his words. See if he will hold to what he said last night.

I reach a hand up to his face, slowly tracing the side of his helm, willing my fingers not to shake.

He blinks, optics refocusing on me as he stills my hand with one of his own. “You don’t need to do that.”

“If I want to?”

He stares into my optics for a long while before he releases my hand.

I roll off the couch, moving in front of him as I let my hands roam across his chassis, slowly mapping out his frame as he lets his helm drop onto the back of the couch with a hiss of hydraulics.

The soft purr of his engine hitches as I slip my fingers between his armour as he lets it relax, the panels opening up to allow me access.

“We should move to my room.” He says quietly as he pushes himself up, one hand curling around my arm, tugging gently. “We stay out here we’re just inviting the rest of my gestalt to join in.”

I am almost on the berth when he slips beneath me to sprawl on his back, my coding protesting as I clamber up. I should be underneath, it is my place.

“I’m yours Ratchet, do whatever you want.” Coding subsides. Orders left imprinted by Mirage dissolving as I am given the freedom to do as I will.

I trail a light hand across the seams of his armour, slipping my fingers between them, gently tracing the wires beneath. He doesn’t move, letting me do as I want. Perhaps he meant it. That he wouldn’t hurt me. Or he could be luring me in, waiting until I get complacent.

I dig my fingers deeper, twisting the wires. He snarls, claws clenching into the mesh of his berth. But he doesn’t order me to stop. I smooth the wires, untangling them as he relaxes again, one of his hands stroking over my thigh, soothing, as if he expects me to bolt at any moment.

Which, to be honest isn’t that bad an idea, but I know there is nowhere to go. Better to face fear than run from it. I allow myself an amused laugh as I realise the unintentional pun I just made; ‘Face my fear indeed.

I twist my fingers into joints in armour, manipulating the wires and metal beneath, feeling for the sensors I know are buried under the protective armour. Hook whimpers, the hand still on my leg tightening as I find a particularly sensitive cluster.

I stroke over them enjoying his reaction as his hands clench as he fights to stay still.

“Are you always this quiet?”

“Not usually.” He manages as I run a hand across his thigh, stopping just short of the armour covering his valve. “I don’t want to say anything that your coding might take as an order.”

I blink, optics flickering with my surprise until he squirms, reminding me that I have stilled. I obligingly tap his panel which he retracts with a click.

I am surprised by the rumble as my engine purrs, I had almost forgotten how it feels to want this, I shake my head, pulling out of my memories again to focus on the spike and valve being exposed for me, Hook squirming lightly on his berth.

I dip a finger into his valve, the lubricants staining my finger as I raise it to my lips, ignoring his whimper. How much must he want to order me to get on with it, his valve is soaking, lubricant slowly dripping onto his berth.

I push my finger back in, then another, smirking as his valve easily adapts to fit, stretching around me. He snarls, pleading without words. I shake my head, fingers twisting inside him, slowly rubbing over sensors, stretching and teasing.

“Please, take me.” He probably didn’t mean it as an order, but it has the desired effect as I pull my fingers out and line myself up, sliding my spike into his valve, feeling the slick walls contract as he groans.

“Ratchet!” I laugh as he lifts his hips as I pull out slowly, his fingers tightening on my hips, urging me to speed up and stop torturing him.

Control. It is a heady sensation when it has been denied for so long and slag if I’m not going to enjoy it while I can.

His whimpers and moans grow louder as I finally speed up, one hand wrapping round his spike, matching my rhythm as his fingers tighten on my hips to the point of pain.

Energy crackles across his frame as he overloads and I whine, the energy only adding to the charge racing across my circuits.

He stills me, arms and legs wrapping around my chassis as I whimper. “Please?” I drop my head onto his chest plates as the built up charge burns its way over my sensor net with no way to dissipate.

“What?” he sounds confused as a hand runs over my helm, flickering across my chevron leaving a trail of static in its wake.

“I...” Slag if this isn’t humiliating. Probably the entire slagging point. “I need your permission to overload.”

Laid out over his frame as I am I easily catch the angry revving of his engine. “You don’t need my permission.” He finally replies, his voice barely a whisper of sound near my audio. “You don’t _ever_ need my permission”

His fingers curl into my hips, grazing over sensors and sending heat rushing around my body as he bucks his hips. It’s all it takes as I stiffen, electricity discharging as my vision goes white.

Instinct has me waking from recharge without a sound, my optics snapping on to ascertain what has roused me, only to come faceplate to faceplate with Scrapper.

“Megatron wants to speak with you.”

“Me?” I consider telling him to go to the Pit before common sense kicks in. Such a response wouldn’t do anything for this new found freedom Hook seems to be granting me. Which could be another problem, I stop half off the berth as I peer at Hook who is still deep in recharge.

Scrapper must have noticed my hesitation as he spoke up. “I’ll let Hook know Megatron summoned you.”

Following the gestalt leader through the corridors I ignore the chatter that follows us, seems that Autobots and Decepticons have at least one thing in common - the love of gossip.

“He’ll have somebody guide you back down to the repair bay or our quarters.” Scrapper says as he stops in front of a non-descript door. He turns away, heading back down the corridor, leaving me in alone in front of the door which cycles opens with a hiss.

“Come in and stop loitering.” Megatron sounds amused, far different than the harsh battlefield orders I am used to hearing from his vocaliser.

Scarlet optics meet mine as I carefully peer inside, a clawed hand indicating the chairs in front of his desk. A desk which is covered with datapads and holoemitters.

Just like meeting with Optimus.

I drop into a chair with little preamble. It’s unlikely that I’ll ever sit in front of Optimus again. Even if they think I am a prisoner and come to free me, unless they catch Hook at the same time and transfer my control codes then I’ll just end up coming back here. Compelled by a force I can’t resist. And Pit if I didn’t try. Yet still I ended up in Mirage’s room every night.

And besides, what’s to say that whoever they bind me to wouldn’t be like the noble? At least Hook treats me like a mech not a possession.

“Ratchet.” I shake my head, bringing my helm back up to meet the Warlords gaze. “How are you?”

“Better if you had gone to the Pit long ago. Then I’d be safely back in my med bay and none of this would have happened.” I can’t help but snark. How he could sit there and ask such a question of me of all mechs.

“Hook is treating you well?” He asks, ignoring my outburst.

I consider my answer for a moment. Two planetary rotations since Skywarp scooped me off the battlefield and Hook’s not forced me to do anything. Not to say he won’t. But, I know very well that there are much worse Decepticons to be bound to. “Yes.”

“Good.” He leans forward, resting his chin on his meshed fingers. “I wish to apologise to you.”

I am on my feet almost before the sentence has fully registered. “You? Want to apologise?” I snarl. “Apologise for what? For putting me through the Pit and back? For causing me months of fear and hatred with no way out?”

“For letting the Autobots recover you.”

“And you would have been a better Master?” I slam a fist down on his desk, sending datapads slithering off the surface to clatter on the floor. “What, you were upset that your new pet got stolen?”

He hisses, optics darkening as his armour flares with his anger. “What do you Autobots tell each other?” His hands clench, claws digging into his own palms. “I was a miner. I might not have been a coded slave but that is still what we were. Slaves for the mechs who lived on the surface. We spent our entire lives slaving for them and when we asked for a few things to make our lives easier we were laughed at.”

His optics bore into mine. Scarlet and sapphire clashing in a battle of wills.

“I know what it is like to be a slave Ratchet. I would never have done this if it was not our only hope. And I would _never_ have abused you.” I shiver as I hear the absolute certainty in his tone. The voice of a mech who swayed thousands to his cause.

He leans back in his seat, suddenly seeming as tired as Optimus was wont to be after a particularly fierce battle.

“In the mines it was rare that we ever saw medics, the few who did come were protected at all costs. They were often the only thing that stood between us and Primus. The same with many of my troops, gladiators and menial workers without the credits to pay for anything, the visits by the few medics that dared to go against the councils ruling that all treatments be carried out in approved facilities, for the right price of course, were seen as something special.”

I slid back into my seat, watching this side of the Decepticon Warlord I didn’t even know he had.

“We only ever wanted equality and true justice. Prime is fighting for a senate that has blinded him. He was never forced to work as I have, has never been forced to fight for enough credits to afford fuel, to whore out his chassis to pay for a roof over his head.”

“Yet you decided to fight for justice and to kill for equality.” I retorted as I watched the face darken, plates twitching.

“We didn’t start the fight. The Senate did that.” His optics flashed with a barely suppressed rage.

I tilt my helm, unsure what he means. The first the Senate had known about the unrest had been the taking of Kaon by, as they termed it, unlawful rebels.

“Still not common knowledge then, I wonder if Prime even knows? Or did the Senate never tell him just what they did to try and stop our cries for help.”

“Know what?” Part of me wants to know. Many Autobots have wondered what could drive a mech to start an all out war. Power? Vengeance? Insanity?

“About the culls, of miners; well before I organised them into a force to take Kaon. The Senate tried to stop the unrest, by destroying all those they thought were to blame. Worthless drones they called us, not worth the metal on our backs.”

“Optimus fights for the freedom of all sentient beings.” I said, “Shouldn’t you be on the same side?”

Megatron merely looks at me. “We’ve come too far, and fought for too long to ever reconcile our differences. If he wins he’ll bring back the old ways, we want a new order.”

I have nothing to say to that for I know it is true. Optimus has spoken a few times of how he misses having a ruling council so that he can focus on being Primus’ connection to his people rather than a Lord at the head of an army.

 _Megatron: thinking too much._ I freeze as the script appears to materialise in my processor without passing my audial unit, ornate Cybertronian glyphs flowing across my HUD.

Megatron merely raises an optic ridge, broken out of what appears to be an uncharacteristic melancholy mood as he addresses his answer to the wall behind me. “Soundwave: eavesdropping.”

 _Negative: Megatron and Ratchet thinking too loudly._

“What he means by that is he is trying to finish large amounts of datapads and we are disturbing him.” Megatron says as he stands up and moves around me, ignoring my flinch as he brushes past.

 _Affirmative._ Soundwave confirms as Megatron steps out of his office and beckons me out.

The door closes softly behind me as Megatron moves to the next room along and palms the door open, the expressionless mask of his third in command meeting his gaze before one of his symbiotes unfolds from his dock.

“Laserbeak will show you back to Hook.” I nod as the avian framed femme hovers in front of me before darting off down the corridor.

An interesting event, I muse as I follow the symbiote through the ship. Especially that I am in one piece. And although it strikes me as a foolish thought now that I think about the fact that Megatron did manage to organise his mechs into an army, but I had always seen him as one who ruled through brute strength, not through such... charisma. That is the only word I can use to describe it.

And I have to wonder: if I had heard his speeches in Kaon, rather than being a council approved medic stationed in Iacon, whose side would I have been on?


End file.
